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HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 269
🕑 Added 2025-11-14 20:46:17 +0000 UTCChapter 269: Second Year at Hogwarts: Destroying a Horcrux
"So, what did you think of witnessing a phoenix’s rebirth?" Dumbledore asked with a gentle smile, noticing Harry’s distant, dazzled expression.
Harry turned, looking at the tiny, wrinkled new phoenix, and opened his mouth uncertainly. "It was kind of…"
To be honest, the little phoenix looked fairly ugly, but after so many lessons as part of Professor Kahn’s club, Harry knew better than to say so aloud. Phoenixes were powerful creatures, and saying the wrong thing might lead to payback later.
He wisely said nothing more.
Seeing Harry remain silent, Dumbledore didn’t press. He went quiet for a moment, then spoke softly.
"I did invite you to see Fawkes’s rebirth tonight—but there’s another reason I called you here." He spoke as he pulled open a drawer in the desk beside him.
Evans leaned over to peer into the drawer, a curious smile tugging at his mouth.
"So you’ve finally finished your research?"
There wasn’t much inside, but right in the centre lay an unremarkable, grimy golden cup.
"I finished the research ages ago. I’ve spent this time considering whether the plan was really feasible." As Dumbledore spoke, he lifted the cup out and set it on the table.
Harry recognised it at once—the cup he’d swindled from Lockhart, one of two odd items. But where was the diary?
After setting the cup aside, Dumbledore rummaged a moment more and drew out a thick, curved fang, placing it next to the cup.
The moment the fang hit the table, the engravings on the gold cup began to writhe and shift. A human face twisted up from the gold, its mouth frozen in a rictus scream.
"Is that…" Harry swallowed, nervous.
He recognised the fang—one Percy and his friends had taken from the defeated Basilisk. What in Merlin’s name did Dumbledore intend to do with it, placing it beside the cup?
Sensing Harry’s tension, Dumbledore’s voice was calm and reassuring. He nudged the fang toward him.
"No need to worry. Here—take this and stab the cup."
Harry’s nerves prickled, and somewhere inside him, a question lingered. He didn’t know why Dumbledore wanted him to do this, but he trusted the headmaster absolutely.
Besides, every time he saw this cup, it left him feeling irritable—not angry, but a grating sensation, deep in his soul.
This could not be a good thing.
He took a steadying breath, gripped the fang, and jabbed it hard at the cup.
At the moment fang met gold, the cup—which had looked rock solid—cut and melted like a knife through warm butter. A spurt of dark, almost bloody filth sprayed out.
A second later, a piercing wail ripped through the office, so shrill that Harry’s head felt as if it were splitting open. The portraits on the walls clapped their hands over their ears; even the newborn Fawkes twisted and bounced away from the noise.
Luckily, the scream didn’t last long. After a few seconds, silence returned. Only the cup remained, dark-stained and riddled with a hole, clearly ruined beyond repair.
As Harry struck, his eyes flashed pure black. Through that peculiar vision, he saw the moment the fang pierced the Horcrux—a burst of alien soul magic surged from within, resonating wildly with his own. Evans had meant to try and intercept it, but the surge vanished even faster than it had appeared, denying him any chance.
Still, the fact that such a reaction happened at all confirmed Dumbledore’s theory: Having Harry himself destroy Horcruxes might loosen the soul fragment bound to him.
Harry looked exhausted after the act of destruction. Dumbledore did not linger over explanations, instead smiling kindly. "Go on to bed, Harry. Curfew’s soon enough, and I’d hate for you to get detention for my sake."
"And… do keep what happened here tonight to yourself."
"Yes, Headmaster." Harry was bursting with questions, but exhaustion dragged at every limb. He said goodbye to the three professors and headed out.
When the office door swung shut and silence fell again, Evans turned back to the remaining two adults.
There was still one important detail he'd left unmentioned during their discussion of the origins of Dark Magic.
"What do you two know about the name Morgana?"
He knew the name well enough, of course. Morgana even had her own Chocolate Frog Card, and the wizarding world’s knowledge didn’t extend much beyond the brief lines printed there.
Nicolas Flamel thought for a while, then replied, "I imagine my knowledge isn’t much different from yours. Most records simply refer to Morgana as an infamous Dark witch and the creator of many evil magics. But that’s it. She lived in ancient times, and almost everything about that age vanished in the Dark Era."
Dumbledore chimed in, "As for the portrait on the Chocolate Frog Card—that’s a magical copy, made from a sketch discovered in a Muggle castle. There are rumours the sketch really is Morgana, but there’s no firm proof."
"How do you know that in such detail?" Evans arched an eyebrow at Dumbledore.
With a soft chuckle, Dumbledore replied, "When the Chocolate Frog Company approached me about being a card, I was so curious I asked personally."
"You do have far too much time on your hands." Evans shook his head, then, as an afterthought: "That castle—do you know where it is? Write it down for me if you do."
"I do. You want to go see it?" Dumbledore pulled a quill from an inkpot and scribbled out an address, which floated neatly into Evans’s palm.
He slipped the address into his pocket and said nonchalantly, "It's probably a wild goose chase, but there must be some truth to the legend. I’ll send someone to check it out."
With how many friends he had around the country, it’d be no trouble to send a few flyers on a scouting mission. If anything interesting turned up, he could always go himself.
"That’s not a bad idea," Dumbledore agreed. Then he gave Evans a sly, secretive smile.
Evans felt a prick of unease—he knew all too well that whenever Dumbledore smiled that way, it meant another devilish plan was cooking.
But the next thing Dumbledore said only left him more perplexed.
"In a few days, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher will arrive."
"And I promise—you’re going to be delighted."
